Sound of Music
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: "Look, I get it, life with Thanos sucked, and maybe you feel like you have to be the badass assassin that the world thinks you are all the time." He smiles softly at her and it catches her off-guard. "But, Gamora, you can learn how to sing and still kick ass, okay?" *post-movie, one-shot, hints of Gamora/Peter*


_**Author's Note: **__Saw this movie for the first time two days ago and fell in love with it. I couldn't resist writing something! Please enjoy! Set post movie with no knowledge of the comics._

* * *

"_Sing a simple melody_

_That's how easy love can be."_

—_Jackson 5, "ABC"_

* * *

Peter's singing again.

Granted, Gamora isn't really fazed by this now as living together on this ship—a truly tiny ship really with the five of them practically living on top of each other—she's grown accustomed to her fellow teammates quirks.

Rocket tinkers, metal scraping his workbench.

Groot dances, leaves rustling.

Drax cleans his knifes.

And Peter sings.

It's not like his voice is even remarkable—in fact, it's quite off-key—but there's something remarkably soothing about it. The way he hums during battle, seemingly planning his every move in order to match the beat coming out of his headphones, the way he sings when he's drunk, loud and boisterous and when he's reflecting upon something, the soft sound that his voice makes that seems to follow her no matter where she goes.

Singing . . . it's such a Terran thing.

Living with Thanos, she would see some prisoners sing a chant once in a while, but never had she heard a song before the day she met Peter. Now, her waking hours were spent listening to songs that she never understood and hearing Peter's voice drown out the original singers.

"You sing a lot." She remarks to him.

They're in-between jobs now, relaxing after a particularly close call on an asteroid that turned out to not be as abandoned as they were led to believe. Rocket, Groot, and Drax had headed out to the marketplace to buy spare parts to rebuild their weapons, though she had no doubts the trio would end up causing a few black eyes as well in order to work out their aggression.

"Yeah?" Peter remarks, clearly not seeing what she's trying to get out. Then again, she's not sure what she's trying to say either.

"Did you do that on Terra too?" She's never visited Terra—Thanos had plans for it, but abandoned it due to how far away it was and how many more planets he had to conquer to get there—but she's heard stories about the Terrans and their mysterious customs. They were weak creatures—breakable, like glass—yet, from what she had gleaned from Peter, they were some of the most interesting creatures in the universe.

"Singing?" He echoes and she nods her head. "Um." He runs a hand through his hair, leaning back on the makeshift couch, held together with duct tape. She's been trying to convince him to get a new one—a bigger one, along with a bigger ship, but that last bit was a fight for another time—but he'd refused, claiming "sentimental value" or whatever that meant.

Finally, he clears his throat and meets her gaze.

"My mom did."

Peter's mother, she had found, was a sensitive subject, one that he would mention every once in awhile, but would clam up about as soon as someone else would inquire about her. From what she understood, Peter's mother had gotten extremely sick and died when he was quite young. Yondu then abducted him and he learned how to be a Ravenger.

"I see." Gamora remarks, unsure whether she should press him further.

"You don't sing?" He asks, tone light, but eyes clouded with an emotion she couldn't quite place—regret or grief?

"Living with Thanos . . ." She hesitates, talking about her past still terrified her. Despite being with the team for six months, she's still terrified they will reject her. That they will take one look at her and see all the sins she's committed and they'll know everything and cast her out to the wolves.

She wants to trust them, but it's a struggle.

Small steps are all she can do right now.

"Living with Thanos," She begins again, knowing that it's time to take another one of those small steps. "I never heard music or songs."

"Not even one?" He remarks, shock coloring his tone.

She shakes her head.

"They weren't like your songs." She replies.

There's something about Peter's songs—the way the beat seems to resound within her and becomes her, connects her to Peter, to her team—that makes her feel safe. She doesn't understand the songs—Peter tried a few times to explain them to her—but even the loss of comprehension doesn't change the impact the melody has on her.

"That's fucked up." Peter mutters, frank as usual.

"Don't you ever want to go back to Terra?" She asks suddenly, though a voice warns her to quit her line of questioning before she hits a nerve and he shuts down.

"Back to Earth?" The words seem familiar on his tongue. "Why would I want to go to Earth?"

"Music surely must have progressed since you were there." She informs him, though she isn't sure why this is so important to her, why she even cares at all, because she is an assassin who knows at least 356 ways to kill a person and doesn't even sing.

Yet, she can't help but want to know the answer.

"Earth isn't my home anymore." He informs her and relief surges through her, though she isn't sure why, did she really even think for a moment that he would leave her—them—after what they had been through?

In the silence, he returns back to his work—checking his mask for any damage—and she sits, waiting.

He starts to hum and Gamora suppresses the smile from showing up on her lips.

She does have a reputation to maintain, after all.

* * *

"I don't understand," Gamora begins sharply. "This Julie Andrews is like the hero Kevin Bacon?"

Peter sighs dramatically and shakes his head emphatically.

"No." He replies quickly. "Julie Andrews, she sings a song that everyone on Earth knows." He smirks at her. "It's the easiest song ever."

"And you are telling me this why?" She questions, lost in the Terran culture references. She likes to think of herself as a quick study—quicker than Drax anyway—but she isn't from Terra and doesn't understand half of the things that come out of Peter's mouth.

"Because," Peter pauses dramatically and she folds her hands across her chest, glaring at him. "I'm going to teach you how to sing."

Silence.

"You're . . . what?" She mutters, for that is the one thing she's never expected.

"I'm," He points to himself, smugly grinning. "Going to teach you how to sing."

"I don't want to sing."

"Liar." He retorts.

"I am not lying." Her tone grows louder as anger starts to stir.

"You are too!" Peter challenges. "All you ever do is watch me hum—" She opens her mouth to deny it, but he shakes his finger in front of her and cuts her off. "No, don't even try to deny it!"

She sharpens her glare.

"Look, I get it, life with Thanos sucked, and maybe you feel like you have to be the badass assassin that the world thinks you are all the time." He smiles softly at her and it catches her off-guard. "But, Gamora, you can sing and still kick ass, okay?"

She bites her lower lip, hesitating.

"What if . . ." Her voice trails off and Peter nods encouragingly. "What if I'm awful at it?"

He chuckles at that.

"Gamora, trust me, you're going to be better than Yondu, at least, okay?"

She wants to protest more because this goes against every fiber of her being—don't show any weakness, weakness could get you killed—but she wants to sing, wants to have that small joy that Peter does.

"Give it a try, okay?" He asks and she takes a deep breath in.

"Okay."

That's when the lessons start.

* * *

They have singing lessons whenever the rest of the team is gone.

Peter assures her that she shouldn't feel ashamed of anything—"Look at how much I sing!"—but she doesn't want to put herself too much at risk, not yet, not while she's still not sure of her team.

So, they sit and sing and each time, she finds herself becoming more and more confident. She hasn't mastered the Julie Andrews song yet—it's mostly nonsense to her; how could Terran children understand what deer had to do with singing is beyond her—but Peter is a patient teacher and a few weeks later, she's able to sing by herself.

She thinks it's a step in the right direction.

* * *

The thing with Terrans is they're fragile.

So, when Peter gets sick with what Terrans call "the flu" she is concerned. At first, he assures them that he is fine, save for some minor congestion, but after he passes out in the middle of bar fight, she begins to worry. She isn't sure how he managed to get a Terran illness after visiting an ice world, but it's happened and now, the team must deal with a fever-stricken, somewhat delirious leader.

"I am Groot?" The tree suggests, from its pot on the table.

"No, that would never work." Rocket dismisses. "Earth is a no-fly zone, remember? Plus, even if we did get there, how would we know what medicine to get?" The raccoon gestures to the team. "It's not like any of us can blend in long enough to ask around."

"Perhaps, we could take him to the Nova Corps?" Drax submits. "They do have the best infirmary—"

"It's too far away." Gamora answers softly, running a hand through her hair. "By the time we got to them, the illness would either have passed or caused too much damage."

"I am Groot." The tree grimaces, pouting somewhat.

"Yeah," Rocket mutters. "We are screwed."

"How do you take care of an ill Terran?" Drax asks and the team draws a blank. She knows nothing of Terran physiology—Thanos never took Terran prisoners—and that lack of knowledge leaves her vulnerable and worried.

"Rest and plenty of fluids." She finally says. "Rocket, contact Nova Corps and ask them if they know anything about this 'flu'."

"On it." The raccoon nods.

"And I?" Drax rises, seemingly needing a task as well.

"Head to the marketplace." She orders, taking comfort from taking charge. "Buy herbs and medicines. If we're lucky, one of them might work on him."

"I shall return."

Soon, she's alone with just Groot and the unnerving fear for company.

"I am Groot." The plant smiles up at her and she chuckles softly, grateful to have such a comforting companion.

"I shall take care of him." She assures him.

She just needs a moment.

* * *

She's never seen Peter like this.

His eyes are glazed over, as if they can't really focus on anything. His hair clings to his moist brown and his skin feels like the sun has burned it. His cheeks are a fiery red and as she dips a wet rag into the basin of cold water, she tries not to notice how he leans into her cool touch, as if he needs it to survive.

"Hey." He rasps, in a moment of rare comprehension.

"Hello." She greets, voice unnaturally soft, but she's grown fond of this man, as reckless and stupid as he is.

"Bet I look totally handsome right now." He tries to joke, but his smile dissolves as a cough racks his body. She helps him sit up until it passes, tries not to worry about how weak he's become.

He's not leaving her.

"You are ill." She states. "Your looks are of no importance right now."

"Ouch." He feigns hurt. "I see your bedside manner is just as sweet as ever."

She rolls her eyes, but allows a small smile to grace her lips.

"This flu . . ." The word feels foreign on her tongue. "Is it deadly?"

"Not usually." He replies. "It just feels like you're on the verge of death."

"Nova Corps said we should bring you to them." They had ultimately decided against that, though she wondered if they had made the right call there.

"No, I'm good." Peter shakes his head. "Really." His lips are chapped and she chides herself for not giving him some water. She places the cup to his lips and he drinks a sip before shakily taking the cup from her grasp.

"You will recover." She states, though she wonders if that's mostly for him rather than her.

She sits there, on the edge of his bed for what feels like an eternity. He sleeps shortly after finishing the water and she watches the steady rise and fall of his chest, counting each breath.

He stirs suddenly, eyes open and alert.

"Peter?" She murmurs, seeing the distress on his expression.

"Mom?" He slurs and it's clear the fever has overtaken him once more. She's heard of these delusions—Drax had the watch before her and informed her that he'd been confused for Yondu for a short time—and it pains her to see the lack of recognition in his eyes.

"I'm Gamora." She informs him, but he ignores her statement.

His scalding hands clamp over hers.

"I'm sorry." His voice breaks. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't take your hand."

She's sensing there's something more at play here then she comprehends and she's at a loss of what to do.

"It's okay." She attempts to soothe. "You did take my hand."

"I did?" He mutters.

"Yes, Peter."

He smiles.

"Mom, I miss you."

She hesitates.

"I . . . miss you as well."

There's silence for a few moments and she's sure he's back to sleep.

"Mom?"

She curses her bad luck.

"Mom, will you sing to me?"

He looks up at her expectantly and there's something so fragile in his gaze, something that she doesn't have the heart to crush. Pride pushed aside, she softly hums.

Then, confidence growing, she sings.

"Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start . . ."

* * *

A week later, Peter is fully recovered and back to his old antics.

He has no recollection of his fever hallucinations and she isn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

He's singing to himself when she walks into the room. She turns to Groot and picks up his pot and moves him towards the light coming from the window. When Peter reaches the second verse of his song, she joins in.

And the best part about it, no one even thinks twice.

And Gamora can't helping thinking that she finally belongs.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you have a second! _


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